True Riddles
by steph84
Summary: Tom Riddle's Basilisk killed Moaning Myrtle. But what was Tom's relationship with Myrtle before her death?
1. Perfect Prefect

"Don't tease me!"  
  
"Aww, is poor little Myrtle going to cry? Shed a few tears for us, Myrtle!"  
  
Her face screwed up in an effort not to cry, but she failed. A few lone tears escaped from under her eyelids and were presented to a jeering crowd. They whooped and hollered like there was no tomorrow, causing Myrtle to run from the room.  
  
On the other side of the classroom, Tom Riddle sat in silence. A school prefect, he wasn't sure if he should interfere or not. It was only three weeks into the school term and already things in the Transfiguration class were going downhill. Professor Dumbledore had yet to arrive, leaving Tom to battle with his morals on whether or not he should step in and put a stop to the teasing.  
  
"Did you see the look on her face?" Arnie Manchester laughed. Arnie had been the ringleader of Myrtle's teasing crowd and looked thoroughly pleased with himself. Tom didn't particularly like Arnie. His red hair and freckles gave him somewhat of a ratty look and Tom couldn't stand the way he picked on everyone around him when he, himself, was no better.  
  
"Alright, everyone, please take your seats." Professor Dumbledore entered the room with an air of confidence, as always. He swept to the front of the classroom and set his books down on his desk. He showed no signs of understanding what happened in the class a few moments prior, but he motioned for Tom to join him at his desk while the other students got settled.  
  
"Tom, I have a favour to ask," he said, drawing closer to Tom's face so that no one else could hear their conversation. "I passed Myrtle in the hallway on my journey here and she seemed upset about something. Could I trouble you to go talk to her and make sure she's okay?"  
  
The last thing Tom wanted to do was seek out freaky Myrtle and talk to her about her feelings, but the pleading in Dumbledore's eyes made him reconsider his original decision.  
  
"Of course, sir," he said, heading for the doorway. "I won't be long."  
  
He followed the sound of Myrtle's wails to the second story girls' lavatory. Inside he could hear Myrtle's sobs and he rapped softly on the door. "Myrtle?"  
  
Myrtle's sobs subsided. "What?" she asked irritably. "What do you want?"  
  
Tom found it against his better judgement to tell her that Professor Dumbledore asked him to look after her, so he made up a little white lie. "I just wanted to come and see if you were okay, or if you wanted to talk about what happened."  
  
An emotional outburst brought Myrtle to the door of the washroom. She flew out in such a rage that Tom had to back himself up against the opposite wall to avoid being hit by her fury. "You wanted to see how I was?" she snarled. "Are you sure? You didn't come to taunt me? About my hair, my clothes, my glasses? Are you absolutely positive?"  
  
"Of course," Tom said enthusiastically, his back still pressed against the wall. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."  
  
Myrtle suddenly blushed a deep crimson. "I'm so sorry," she said, her face screwing up in embarrassment. "I'm so very sorry. That's so sweet of you, wanting to check up on poor, pathetic Myrtle." She turned away from him.  
  
"You're not pathetic, Myrtle."  
  
She beamed. "That's so kind of you. No one's ever been this kind to me before. Not even my own parents." Her voice faltered and her lips trembled. Tom could sense more tears coming so he steered the conversation in a different direction.  
  
"I don't even know my parents," he said, taking the advantage of Myrtle turning away. He took a step towards her. "My mother died shortly after giving birth to me and my father left when my mother was pregnant with me."  
  
"Really?" Myrtle face showed a sudden interest as Tom recalled how Myrtle loved to dwell on dramatic and upsetting scenarios.  
  
"Oh yeah," Tom said, taking another tentative step towards her. "I never knew either of them."  
  
"So you're an orphan?"  
  
Tom nodded. "In a better sense of the word, yeah."  
  
Myrtle blushed. "I'm sorry to hear that."  
  
Tom just shrugged. "I never knew my parents so it's hard to say I miss them." He glanced upwards for a very brief second. "What do you say we head back to the classroom? You don't want to miss too much class time."  
  
For a moment, Tom was certain that Myrtle was going to decline, but instead she happily began heading in the direction from which Tom came. Quickly, Tom glanced at the washroom door. He would be back here soon. 


	2. Progress

On the outside, Tom Riddle was a model student: sixth year prefect, good grades, and exemplary behaviour. He was like a perfect, shined plaque, hanging proudly on a wall for all the faculty of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to show off. But on the inside, he was rotting to the core.  
  
For almost two years, since his fourth year at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle had known of his heritage. He knew how his ancestor was the great, one and only, Salazar Slytherin, founder of Slytherin house. He knew that he had the greatest gift of all: the access to the Chamber of Secrets in which Slytherin kept his greatest triumph and secret. The Basilisk that roamed the chamber had befriended Tom early on in his visits because Tom could speak his language, the only person to be blessed with that gift besides Slytherin himself. And the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets? The very washroom in which Myrtle had fled to.  
  
Tom crept along the empty corridor, glancing behind him every few seconds. He knew he could handle being caught out of bed when he shouldn't be, but he wasn't sure he could take being caught sneaking into the girls' lavatory. Silently, he opened the door and sneaked to the sink where he spoke to the snake on the faucet. "Open for me," he whispered and the sound of machinery, although there was none visible, filled the room. When the sinks had transformed, Tom lowered himself down into the place that had become a second home to him.  
  
As he hurried along the dark and musty passageway, he contemplated his plan one last time. It had to be done, he argued with himself. To cleanse the school of all that are unworthy. He planned to set the Basilisk free in the hallways of the school at night, catching any unsuspecting students out of bed. One look from the deadly Basilisk was fatal and Tom knew that Salazar Slytherin would roll over in his grave if he knew the filth that had been admitted to Hogwarts in the past few years. Tom also knew that it was up to him to rid the school of this rubbish.  
  
Tonight was his night. He entered the Chamber itself, calling to life the giant snake. "It's me," he hissed in his slithery tone. "I've come for you to do my bidding." Gently he patted the Basilisk on the nose before directing it where to go. "Soon," he promised to no one in particular, "soon, the school will be pure again. I promise, very soon."  
  
The very next morning, screams filled the Great Hall where the entire student body was eating breakfast. The Headmaster, Professor Dippet, rose from his seat at the Head Table just in time to see Professor Watson, an elderly lady, enter the Hall, out of breath from running and in obvious terror.  
  
"A student!" she gasped, pointing to outside the doors. "On the floor. Injured. Must get help!" She leant over, resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Immediately, Professor Dumbledore leapt up to help the woman while Professor Dippet ordered the students to remain calm while he investigated. He left the hall in a hurry.  
  
Tom grinned to himself. The plan was working. After he had ordered the Basilisk to kill, he had returned to his room to be sure not to be missed for too long. He had told the Basilisk to return to its home after its job had been completed and Tom had spent much of the night awake, waiting for this moment. Nothing could spoil it now; it had begun.  
  
Dippet returned twenty minutes later, his face pale. Instantaneously, he called a meeting with his fellow staff and they put their heads together to speak secretively. Tom couldn't help but grin. It was working! When the staff separated, Tom could see the fear in Dippet's eyes. But he wouldn't let it show. He continued the breakfast hour, telling jokes and playing games as he usually did. Tom could understand him not wanting to spread fear with the news of a fellow student's death. He could only wonder who it had been.  
  
After the meal, when everyone else was packing up to head off to classes, Tom approached the Head Table where Dippet was animatedly discussing new curriculum plans with Professor Dumbledore. "May we help you, Riddle?" Dippet asked as he approached the table.  
  
"I just wanted to make sure everything was alright, sir," Tom said, folding his hands in front of him. "You returned from the hallway looking quite grim." He paused for a moment. "Is everything alright?"  
  
Dippet let out a hearty laugh. "Of course, my dear boy, of course! Look at this, Albus." Dippet turned to Dumbledore. "We have ourselves a fine little gentleman here, concerned about his old Headmaster." He turned back to Tom. "Riddle, thank you for asking, but everything is under control." His eyes reflected to the Prefects' badge on Tom's shoulder and a glimmer crossed his eyes. "There was an incident," he said, lowering his voice and moving his head closer to Tom. "A small incident where a student has been Petrified. But I have already alerted the hospital wing and the student is currently residing there, awaiting treatment." He smiled again and sat up straight again. "So no need to worry, Riddle, no need at all."  
  
Tom left the hall fuming. It wasn't supposed to happen this way! Someone was supposed to die! If no one died in this quest, then the whole effort would have been wasted. He angrily kicked a stone out of his way, only to be greeted with a voice.  
  
"Hello there."  
  
For a moment, as insane as it was, Tom was certain that it was the stone he had kicked talking. When he came to his senses, he turned and saw Myrtle lurking in the shadows. "Hi," he answered automatically, still angry that his plan had backfired.  
  
"That's okay that you ignored me," Myrtle said in a voice of obvious hurt. "I don't mind. In fact, I'm rather used to it."  
  
"I'm sorry, Myrtle," Tom said, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. "I didn't mean to ignore you. I've just been so caught up in my own thoughts."  
  
"I know what you mean." Myrtle heaved a great sigh. "It's awful, what happened to that boy, isn't it?"  
  
"What boy?"  
  
Myrtle looked at him like he was mad. "The boy! That was found in the dungeons. The one that had been," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "Petrified."  
  
Oh! Tom's mind began reeling. "Do you know who it was?" Tom asked in the same hushed tone. He just had to know whom his Basilisk had gone after. Who it was that the Basilisk, which Tom believed channelled some of the spirit of the great Salazar Slytherin, felt needed to be eliminated from the Hogwarts scene.  
  
"Manchester," Myrtle said, a look of sickness drooping over her already sullen face. "Arnie Manchester." 


End file.
